Of Ash and Ember
by muffaloman
Summary: There is more to the Unkindled than blades and blood. A reimagining of the Dark Souls III story and lore.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

The sound of stone grating against stone was the first thing Ricard heard when the darkness bid him farewell and a blinding light invaded his consciousness. The sounds of his heart beating and chest breathing quickly followed as he struggled to adjust his eyes to the new environment. Instinctively, he patted his side to find a weapon. A sword hilt of some sort greeted his hand, and he started to unsheathe the steel before he fully came to.

He was sitting upright when his view fully came back; he might have fallen in shock otherwise. His heart beat even faster and his hand eased the hilt as he gazed around him; headstones and dying trees littered the grey, muddy ground around him. As he braced his hands against the stone surrounding him, Ricard stood and noticed the object he had been lying in: a coffin.

Later, Ricard would frequently recall his training well. Panic could never be allowed to dominate the mind, or else dangers could spring forth unnoticed or miscalculations and mistakes could be made. In this moment, however, the only thing on his mind were frantic questions and an unnerving sense of dread.

Looking around, Ricard noticed there were two hooded figures moving away from him. He called to them, hoping they might have answers for him. They kept moving as if they hadn't, or couldn't, hear him at all. Ricard shuffled out of his coffin and jogged up to them. As he was moving he noticed the weight of a set of armor on him. He looked down briefly and noted that, including the sword at his side, he was fully fitted for battle.

He reached the figures and touched one on the blue cloak draped around its shoulder. They both briefly halted, looked back, and shrieked at Ricard. The shriek would have been the most startling part, were it not for the sunken, stretched out skin that covered both of their faces. He quickly recalled his hand as he stared at the eyeless people now continuing on their way.

 _Undead_ , came the thought. _These must be undead_. Ricard had recalled hearing stories of how the undead curse started to spread among the land, but never thought it would reach his home. Strange, though; he had heard they were highly aggressive and attacked anyone on sight.

A chill sparked down his spine, stiffening his back while his eyes shot open and his mouth tightened. He hastily glanced around until his eyes fell on a large puddle of water. Ricard rushed to it, hoping desperately it would be clear enough to show him what he wanted. He slid on his knees and gazed intently on his reflection in the daylight. He was met with a boyish face, complete with blue eyes, dirty blond hair, and a small yet deep scar across the nose. A long, red feather peeked over the back of his right shoulder.

Ricard exhaled deep and smiled in relief. He wasn't one of those _things_. While relieved, he was still confused. Why was he in that coffin? Where exactly was he? How long had he been in there?

 _Calm down_ , he convinced himself. _Just think_. He closed his eyes and tried to visualize the last memories he could recall. More difficultly done than said. After a few moments, all he could remember were bits and pieces of people and events. An aging armored man, smiling. A brilliant, red poppy field. A statue, completely broken save the feet. He winced and opened his eyes with a particularly vivid scene of clashing steel and shouting soldiers. That's right, he had been… anxiously engaged in combat before this. He was a knight, surely. But this pallid graveyard was not where he fought.

Ricard's thoughts were interrupted by the profound clang of a bell. He looked in the direction of the loud toll and saw a large, cathedral-like building in the distance. As the vibrations echoed through his ears and into his bones, Ricard felt a profound desire to head toward the bell. More than a desire, actually. A need. The knight's feet began to shuffle toward the keep in the distance. As he walked, he reasoned he might find answers there.

On the trek, the bell tolled roughly every ten minutes. Ricard saw little else besides scattered graves and the occasional group of blue clothed undead wandering aimlessly. They never acknowledged him, and he kept a safe distance in turn. He did notice that a select few graves had been dug out, their coffins as empty as the he had left behind.

The path to the keep was fairly straightforward. Ricard realized that the elevation was increasing, and was careful around narrow sections near cliff edges. Falls from that height did not seem like they would end well for him. After almost an hour, he came upon an open, circular area with a stone-tiled floor filled with candles near the middle. To the left of the arena lay the largest coffin Ricard had ever seen. Disconcertingly, it was opened and empty as well. Turning back to the middle, the candles were surrounding a lit bonfire, it's warmth felt from a few dozen yards away. There was some sort of coiled sword in the fire, but it didn't glow white hot like a sword engulfed in flame would.

 _That means someone's nearby_ , thought Ricard hopefully. As he drew near the fire, he was filled suddenly with a light, familiar feeling. It felt a little like… coming home. _Strange_ , he thought as he reached out to feel the fire's heat.

It wasn't until he stood near the bonfire and received it's warmth that he realized just how cold he had been since waking up. Near the fire he felt the temperature rise in his body so high compared to what he had been feeling, yet he didn't feel like he was going to melt. In fact, he felt like his body heat was… normalizing. He stood as close to the bonfire as he could without getting burned when the bell chimed again, quite loud in its close proximity.

Reluctantly, Ricard left the fire and head toward a great arched doorway leading to the bell's keep. He looked back toward the fire as the cold crept back into his body, but shook his head and continued forward. The steps leading up to the keep were surrounded by many headstones, more clustered together than before. Before entering the open doorway, he heard the voices of multiple people talking inside. Comforted, he quickly raced up the steps and into the structure.

The conversations immediately ceased when Ricard stepped into the populated lobby. At first glance, he saw several distinct characteristics of the grand room. In the back of the circular, multi tiered chamber were five large seats made of stone. Staircases led to these thrones and other levels in the area. There was another, larger bonfire fire in the middle of the bottom tier, currently surrounded by six sitting people who had stopped drinking and talking to look up at him. One of the individuals, an olive skinned man with unkempt hair and dark stubble, lifted his mug in Ricard's direction.

"Welcome to the land of the living, boy!" came the welcome from the man. Based on his armor, clothing, and accent, he didn't seem to be around from here. Wherever "here" was.

"Got another one for ya, Firekeeper," shouted another in a grizzled voice, this person standing in a group on the right side of the room. The man was dressed in ragged cloth, complete with a hood and exotic necklaces and bracelets. He sported a thick, red muttonstache, a striking difference to the huge, dark skinned man standing next to him.

Before anyone else could say something, a woman was walking up the stairs to greet him. She wore a long black dress and dark brown, leather arm wrappings going past her sleeves. Her gaze was indiscernible under a silver crown-like object covering her eyes and keeping her blonde, braided hair in place.

Upon reaching the young knight, she motioned with her hand to a room on the current floor. "Come, Ricard. There is much to discuss." Her voice was meek, but direct.

Ricard took one more glance at the groups of people scattered around the keep, now gone back to their previous activities and paying him no mind. All save one man near the fire with a shaved head, the bottom half of his face covered by coffee colored cloth. It did nothing to hide a stern, disdainful stare and furled brows directed toward Ricard. Only a large scar on the left side of face was fiercer than his gaze.

Ricard followed the woman into an open room containing only two wooden chairs. She took a seat on one and motioned for Ricard to sit. He complied and, before he could ask any of the dozens of questions swirling his mind, the woman began to speak.

"You have many questions, Ricard. I will do my best to answer them to the best of my ability," she said, hands folded on her lap. "This place you have been brought to is called Firelink Shrine. It is a very old, very important place. It will act as a refuge for you in the near future. A port in the midst of the storms you are to face." She held out a hand, palm face up. "Before I tell you more, it will be easier to show you why you are here than to explain it. Touch my palm."

Though it was a strange way to begin a conversation, Ricard judged that, by the way she carefully chose her words, it was not the first time she rehearsed this introduction. With a speculative expression, he decided it would be best to just see where this went. He reached out and slowly placed his fingers on the palm of the strange woman. He did not expect it to actually do anything, let alone what it did.

As his hand made contact, a whirlwind of images and sounds assaulted his mind. People, places, and events rushing through his memory like water from a broken dam. He saw it, his past, as if looking at the puddle's refection earlier. He saw a brigade of armed men and women marching through brightly colored fields. Glimpses of violence, Ricard himself putting down tattered men with rusted spears and broken shields. He saw a man dying in his arms, choking on his own blood. But what shone brightest in the memories was the sun; not the burning body in the sky, but the symbol plastered on all: banners, shields, armor.

He remembered he had a purpose. A quest, noble as any. The marching, the bloodshed, all for a singular purpose. He had to do it, had no choice. Rather, the other choice was to let his family succumb to angry mobs and resentful lords. He remembered the Flame. It became his whole life, his only focus. That's right… he had purpose before. Purpose now.

The visions broke, and Ricard found himself in a cold sweat staring back at the woman.

"I am a Fire Keeper, and my purpose here is to help you and your kin find the Lords of Cinder to rekindle the First Flame. I suspect you remember attempting to do something similar in your past life."

"The First Flame… yes, that's what I was doing. We had to fix it, to save it." After a brief pause, he shook his head and continued, "My… my past life? What do you mean?"

"Some time ago, I know not where or when, you were slain in your endeavor. You gave your life in pursuit of prolonging the Age of Fire, and the Flame remembered your sacrifice."

"Slain? I'm dead?" Ricard remembered his coffin. "I'm… undead?"

"Not quite. The Undead Curse has plagued mankind since the first Age of Fire, but your condition is different. You, and all those in this Shrine, are Unkindled. Ashen Ones, those who were chosen by the Flame to find the Lords of Cinder and return them to their thrones. Only they may reenact the Linking of the First Flame and renew the Age of Fire."

The Fire Keeper paused, letting Ricard process some of the information. He rubbed his temples, closed his eyes, and sighed heavily.

"Who are they? These Lords of Cinder?" asked Ricard, fingers still on his temples.

"They are those who have been successful in Linking the First Flame in their life and surviving. Five there are, strong enough to do so again in death. One of them, Ludleth of Courland, is already here."

Ricard's brows raised in surprise. "They Linked the Fire? All of them?" If it were true, then they must have been mighty indeed. The memories that flooded Ricard's mind were beginning to sort themselves out, and many of them included scenes of brutal combat. The band he was part of had many brave men and women who laid down their lives so their companions could take one step further to the First Flame. He remembered throngs of zealous madmen and ravenous beasts doing everything in their power to stop them, but they pushed through regardless. They had to.

Again, the symbol of the Sun came to his mind. The thought of it filled him with some sort of optimism, like everything would work itself out in the end. It had been the emblem of his brotherhood. He recalled seeing it held aloft when a conflict would reach its peak; he saw it flying when graves were dug for both friend and foe. The Sun followed him on long marches and stood above him on cold nights.

Whoever the Lords of Cinder were, they must have inspired such admiration for their bravery.

"What about the four who are not here?"

A short pause followed, the Fire Keeper anticipating the most important question Ricard would ask. "They were awoken with the toll of the Bell, same as you. However, instead of coming here to take to their thrones, they departed; each their separate way." She turned to look at the main chamber. "That is why all you were awoken, to find them and guide them back to their responsibility."

Ricard raised a brow. "Wait, they left?"

"Yes. For this purpose has the Flame gathered all you here. You are to separate into four parties and search for the Lords. Then you are to reason with them, to convince them to complete the pact they agreed upon beforehand. Your journey will be difficult, I will not lie. They need have their reasons, but they must be made to understand, or perhaps remember, the role they play in ensuring the continuation of this world."

Suddenly they didn't seem so admirable to Ricard. "Even though they had such an important duty and they just… left? They abandoned it?"

The Fire Keeper let Ricard mull over the information before answering. "I cannot answer for them, I can only tell you of your, and their, part in this plan. Make no mistake, Ricard, this world is dying. We are all doing our best to make sure that doesn't happen."

 _Unreal_ , thought Ricard. _These "Lords of Cinder" had the chance to do what I died trying to do, and they deliberately chose not to_.

"So we're errand boys. Field hands guiding back lost sheep," Ricard mused dejectedly.

The Fire Keeper looked down, then back to Ricard, choosing her words carefully. "You are part of something far larger than yourself. What you are going to do now is just as important as what you were doing in you your past. You have been given a second chance, Ricard. A chance to succeed where previously failed."

Ricard gave a weak smirk. His whole life he had worked to fulfill a glorious commitment, but that life had apparently ended in vain. Abrupt and pointless. No need to rub it in.

Still, he was no fool. In his time he had never heard of anyone Linking the Flame and surviving, and there were certainly never tales of Lords of Cinder passed around the fireplace. How much time, exactly, had passed since he died he did not know, but it was clear he was not recently buried. The world had changed, he could feel it.

Then it hit him, the thought he had been desperately trying to avoid. His gut tightened in anticipation of the response.

"My home, my family… they're gone, aren't they?"

"They have been gone for a very long time," stated the Fire Keeper matter-of-factly.

He thought of the Sun. Raising his brows, he forced a smile. "Then I guess I don't have much of a choice, huh?" He looked back at the four empty thrones. "Where do we begin?"


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

When Ricard emerged from the room with the Fire Keeper, most of the people he previously saw had moved on and were busy with different conversations or tasks. Of note was a tall, well-built man with dark, short hair and a large scar on his face in the shape of an X. He was practicing sword swings off to the side with an incredibly large and heavy sword.

 _A zweihander_ , remembered Ricard. The two-handed sword was famous in his time for its destructive capabilities and intimidating appearance, which seemed to mirror the man swinging the weapon with discipline.

"Follow me, Ricard. I will show you where, and with whom, you are to go," said the Fire Keeper as they descended the stairs to the bottom level of the chamber. As they passed, several of the inhabitants of Firelink waved and welcomed Ricard, although Ricard got the feeling many of the salutations lacked sincerity. Despite the various dialogues, was a certain somber aura about the room, as if most of the people there were refusing to talk about the giant elephant that was staring each of them in the face.

Among those that welcomed him, Ricard noticed a young, blond haired woman wearing the light armor of the Way of White, a religious order dedicated to the service of the gods of Anor Londo. Her greeting was one of the only that felt genuine.

 _Wait a minute… I remembered that_ , Ricard thought excitedly. Even when his memories returned, he had trouble remembering what things were called. He recalled clearly the feelings associated with moments and events, but it was hard to pin down certain details. To be honest, even the names of his brotherhood of knights and his home country evaded him. Nonetheless, the Way of White sprang to his mind almost immediately.

The Fire Keeper led Ricard through a tunnel leading to the south end of the shrine, opposite the Five Thrones. As he walked through the torch-lit passage, a faint, steady sound grew louder. Metal clanging against metal, a sound Ricard was most familiar with. Before reaching the end, Ricard saw a giant of man pounding on an anvil, shirtless, and surrounded by weapons. He was absurdly muscular and sported an impressive white beard that extended to his pectorals.

When the man saw Ricard and the Fire Keeper, he stopped hammering and stood up to greet them. He was well over a head taller than Ricard. "Well what's this, then? A newcomer, I see. 'Tis a pleasure to make y'r acquaintance." His gritty voice belied a kind tone. Up close, Ricard noticed the man was covered in burn marks.

"The name's Andre, and I serve this here shrine as a humble smith. As such, I'll be helping y' with y'r arms and armor." He sized Ricard up. "Not bad quality y' got on right now, but y'll be needing a shield. Hold on." Andre went back to his alcove, amidst a large mile of metal breastplates and helms, and picked up a steel kite shield emblazoned with some sort of crest on it. "Y' look like you can handle this," he noted as he handed it to Ricard.

Ricard grasped the shield's grip and lifted it repeatedly. "Nice weight," he said, impressed. "And it looks like it can take a blow straight on."

"Course it can, I reinforced it," replied Andre with a smile. "Y'll find no better smith in these parts. Or where y'r going, I'd wager."

"Thank you. Speaking of which," Ricard turned to the Fire Keeper, "where exactly are you sending me?"

The Fire Keeper nodded. "That is our next stop. For now, make sure you have all you need from Andre before we continue. You may not see him again for some time."

Ricard nodded. After discussing the matter with Andre, and testing out several weapons, Ricard decided upon an auxiliary weapon that might help him with sturdier foes: a two-handed bastard sword. While not nearly as large as the zweihander he witnessed earlier, the bastard sword would give him a longer swing arc than his long sword, its weight providing a heavier blow.

"Let me show y' a trick before y' think about strapping too much gear on," said Andre as he picked up an estoc from a pile of swords near the anvil. He closed his eyes, concentrated, and the sword started to crumble to ash from the tip down. Instead of falling to the ground, the dust floated to Andre and seemed to meld into his arm.

Ricard looked on in amazement. "Wh… how did you do that?"

"Being Unkindled has certain advantages, lad. Y' can do this to save some space on y'r journey; might make life a bit more comfortable. Y' can't do it with everything y' see, though. Y've got to have a connection with the item, and it takes a bit of time to materialize," Andre noted as the estoc slowly reformed in his hand, reversing the process and turning it from ash to iron. "Precious few seconds y' don't want to be wasting in the heat of battle. I'd prepare beforehand y'r weapons if I were y'."

 _Incredible. I wonder what else I can do_ , contemplated Ricard. Suddenly, he felt sorely cold, like when he walked away from the bonfire.

The Fire Keeper asked Ricard if he was ready to continue, and he nodded affirmatively. As he slung the shield and greatsword across his back, Andre took a seat at the anvil and picked up his hammer. Before continuing, he looked at Ricard.

"One more question before y' leave, if y' don't mind m' asking." He motioned with a nod, "That feather y' got on y'r shoulder… where'd y' get it?"

The young knight pondered briefly. As he was searching his head, he remembered the old knight. It was hard to visualize his face, but Ricard remembered his bushy mustache and wide smile. He remembered being gifted something precious, something entrusted to him to help on his journey. Then, like an elevator switch, it clicked.

Ricard reached into a pouch on his belt and pulled out a piece of cloth, tied into a small, easy to grip ball on the end. He untied the band and unfolded the fabric, revealing the image of the Sun he had seen so often.

He smiled brightly and looked up at Andre. "It was given to me by a good friend, as a complement to this emblem. Symbols of what we stand for, as Warriors of Sunlight. Willing to soar and shine for those who are in need of a brighter day."

Andre chuckled. "I thought it 'twas something like that, lad. I hope y' make y'r good friend proud. Go on, then. We've both got work to do."

As the pair went down the left hallway, Ricard felt a bit less cold.

Not long after, they reached a room filled wall to wall with shelves full of scrolls and parchments. They passed most of them and stopped at a large stone at the end of the room. There were few words and no sentences, there were only four columns of names. At the top of each column of words was a much larger name than the ones below. From left to right, it read:

 **Yhorm**

Ricard

Clive

Kaine

Ester

Tarán

 **The Legion**

Grit

Parnell

Adaliz

Leon

Mortimer

 **Aldrich**

Giselle

Lambert

Sahmir

Khellius

Eva

 **Lothric**

Royce

Grimbald

Jacob

Edmund

Cyrian

The names were etched deep into the stone. Aside from the large names at the top and one small name, Eva, each of the names was glowing faintly like an ember.

Ricard ran his fingers across his name. It was warm to the touch. He was reminded of the cold inside him. He turned to the Fire Keeper, asking, "These are the four groups you were talking about earlier, right?"

She nodded. "And these are the four Lords whom we are to find. As you can see, you are to locate Yhorm and return him."

"What do you know of him?" asked Ricard, staring at the name.

"I know he was called Yhorm the giant. He was supposed to be a great warrior of old, though he, too, was no stranger to loss. He was thought to be both brave and benevolent, fighting to save his kingdom from the fate of darkness that would befall the world should the First Flame fade."

"And do you know where he is?"

"He would have gone back to his home, though I know not why. From what I understand, there is not much of anything remaining there. He would have known this."

"How? My memories were all muddled up when I woke up; isn't it possible his were too? Maybe he still thought there was something waiting for him."

"Were that the case," mused the Fire Keeper. "The Lords of Cinder did not have the same… setbacks that you experienced. The Flame ensured that they would be of sound mind when they awoke so that they might fulfill their duty without delay."

"How convenient." Ricard looked back at the names. "Why aren't the names lit?"

"They are not here," replied the Keeper plainly.

"Is that why this 'Eva' remains dark, as well?"

"Yes. She is that last to show. After she arrives, there will be no more reason to stay. Once-"

Before continuing, the Fire Keeper turned her head sharply toward the exit.

"I am sorry, but I must take my leave. You are to meet with the rest of your party and depart as soon as possible." Leaving Ricard with words in his mouth, she exited the room without another word. Ricard quickly followed, but once out the door there was no trace of the Keeper.

Ricard proceeded back to the main chamber, still a bit taken aback. Before he left, he made sure to memorize the names of his soon-to-be companions, wondering if any were ones that he had seen earlier. He waved at Andre as he passed and noticed a pale man wearing a dark teal cape sitting crossed legged, reading a book. The sides and back of his head were shaved and his red hair was swept to the right side. When he looked up, Ricard noted a small patch of hair on his chin.

"How was the tour?" the man asked impassively.

"Good as could be for a dead guy," joked Ricard, hoping to illicit a response from the man's blank face. He didn't. "I'm Ricard," he introduced, stretching out his hand.

"Khellius," replied the man, ignoring the hand shake. "Out of curiosity, what did she tell you while you were away?"

Ricard slowly reeled his hand back, lips pursed. "What do you mean? She told me why we've been brought back; the Lords of Cinder, rekindle the First Flame, all that. To be honest, it was a lot to take in, you know? How long have-"

Khellius cut him off. "She never spent that much time with any of us, least that I saw." He stood up, revealing leather armor with several belts and pouches under his fur-collared cape. "If there's something special about you, Ricard, keep it to yourself." He looked toward the chamber. "Most people aren't exactly happy about being here, and hearing that somebody got special attention wouldn't help the situation."

He looked Ricard in the eyes and turned to walk away. "I've had my fair share of run-in's with good men and bad men, Ricard. You don't seem like a bloodthirsty killer. But here, you just might have to be." He disappeared behind a corner as he entered the main chamber.

 _Strange guy_ … thought Ricard. Not exactly the warmest welcome, but it was far from the strangest thing to happen to him today. He waited for a few moments and continued into the chamber. There were fewer people now, but a group of three noticed him as he emerged and walked up to greet him.

"So ye got the tour of the place, eh?" came from the same hooded man with a muttonstache from before. "Seems to have taken a liken' to ya, lad, huh?" He extended his hand, which Ricard shook with a relieved smile. It seems not everyone would be as unsympathetic as Khellius.

"Name's Parnell, boy." Parnell took his hood down after shaking hands.

"Ricard, sir," responded the young knight.

Pointing to the olive-skinned man to his left, Parnell said, "This here's Sahmir. Bit of a pansy, this one, but don't hold that against him," he added with a smirk.

"How classy, Parnell. You managed a sentence without a single vulgarity." Sahmir also shook Ricard's hand. "Don't mind him, I'm fairly sure he grew up having to wipe with his hands. Speaking of, you might want to wash yours soon."

Ricard's mouth hung open for a second, then he broke into laughter along with the group. Funny, he didn't think he'd be doing much laughing when he awoke just a few hours earlier.

"This one here doesn't do much talking, but if I'm not terribly mistaken you'll be spending plenty of time together soon," said Sahmir, pointing the last man in the group. He was an extremely large, dark-skinned man with a massive pickaxe slung around his back. His stature would have made him quite intimidating if not for the gentle expression his face bore. "By process of elimination, we're pretty sure he's Tarán. That's what he responds to, anyway."

Tarán gave a half-smile (only the right side of his mouth seemed to move) and scratched his nose.

"A pleasure," said Ricard as he shook Tarán's hand. He'd never felt a tighter grip, especially one that wasn't intentionally strong.

After introductions, Ricard finally seized his chance to get some questions answered. Parnell and Sahmir were quite helpful, considerably more-so than others he had met thus far. It was another moment of comfort since his dizzying, confusing day began.

Parnell and Sahmir had both been at Firelink a few days: Parnell for three, Sahmir for four. According to Sahmir, Khellius, the man who had given Ricard a cold greeting minutes earlier, was the first one at the Shrine. Others followed, usually hours between each arrival. Throughout each induction, the Fire Keeper's response was the same: explain their situation, spark their memories, and retreat to a different part of the Shrine.

Parnell explained the general plan to Ricard. Once all the members of a party had arrived to Firelink and been outfitted for their journey, they would depart to their respective destinations as soon as possible. However, there appeared to be only one way into or out of the Shrine (as it was situated upon a large cliff side): the large bonfire in the center of the main chamber.

This piqued Ricard's curiosity, but Parnell insisted he would have to wait to see how it worked. The young knight _had_ felt a sort of distinct power from the fire, though he knew not why.

Sahmir continued that there was only one person yet to arrive, Eva. Who it was or when they would arrive could only be guessed at. He noted that she was the reason his group hadn't left yet.

Ricard looked around. He felt like, although he had seen many people, there didn't seem to be the necessary twenty gathered at Firelink. "Where are the rest of us? Is there a separate part of the shrine I haven't seen?"

"Oh you probably haven't seen most of it, but you're not mistaken," said Sahmir. "One group already left, two days ago, in fact. The Lothric group. Most of their members were among the first to arrive."

"I see," noted Ricard. After a pause, he added, "So, if there's only one person missing, among those searching for Aldrich, then why hasn't your group departed, Parnell," he asked, referring to those seeking the Legion.

Parnell gave a bellowing laugh. "Don't let Grit hear ya, boy! He's been absolutely livid we haven't left yet. We decided to wait for the other group departing for the Undead Settlement. We figured it'd be safer if we went together, though our paths may diverge. Strength in numbers, and all that."

Ricard raised a brow.

"Ah, I forget you haven't talked with the cripple yet. Look, there's one way out of this shrine, and that's the bonfire. Thing is, there's only two places can go, as of yet: a village full of hollows known, appropriately, as the Undead Settlement, and the kingdom of Lothric."

"Wait, I thought Lothric was a Lord of Cinder?"

"Aye, that he is lad. It's also the name of his kingdom. A bit too on the nose for my taste, but that's the way it is," clarified Parnell. "Anyway, point is my party is waiting for the final member of the other to arrive so we can all leave together. You, however, will be departing for Lothric, and I don't believe your group made any promises to stay." He turned to the silent giant. "Ain't that right, Tarán?"

The man shook his head.

"Well, you should get to know the only Lord of Cinder here, Ricard, before you depart. Lord Ludleth is the one who can tell you where to go and who you'll be guiding back," suggested Sahmir. "May as well get to know anybody else here, too. We may not see each other much on our journey, but it never hurts to have someone you can rely on."

Ricard nodded and thanked his new companions. He spent the next few hours introducing himself to many of the host of Unkindled, getting a general sense of what they were like and how they felt about their duty. Though each was different in dress, speech, and temperament, most gave Ricard the sense that they were not ecstatic to be there.*

There was one, however, who avoided him diligently: the semi-masked man with the scar along the side of his head. Having met most of the others, Ricard deduced that this man must be Clive; a slight problem, seeing as they were to be traveling together. Still, though Ricard was not a man of many books, he knew people well, and assured himself he could on the distant man's good side.

After his introductions, Ricard finally climbed the stairs leading to the Thrones of the Lords. He had noticed, upon first entering Firelink, a frail, sickly looking man sitting upon the second of the five seats, but didn't get a sense for how truly pitiful he was until approaching him.

Ricard reeled momentarily. This Ludleth, this all powerful Lord of Cinder, was a pathetic sight up close. The little clothing he bore was tattered and burnt, and his tiny figure was engulfed, almost swallowed, by the enormous throne upon which he sat. He was lacking legs, though they would not have made him appear taller if he still possessed them. The only regal paraphernalia he bore, the only item indicating his Lordship, was a small iron crown placed precariously on his head, singed black near the top edges.

The many thoughts, questions, and doubts that raced through his mind were interrupted by the emerging appearance of a new figure at the Shrine entrance. Ricard turned to look at the slender, armored figure of a raven-haired woman entering Firelink Shrine. As she looked around, she was intercepted by the Fire Keeper, who seeming appeared out a previously empty room. Ricard saw the same confused expression, desperate for answers, that he bore only hours earlier. A sickening sense of satisfaction washed over him, like he was glad to not be in her position.

"Thou'rt here for answers to thy questions, art thou not?" interrupted the ashen-skinned Lord with a shaky voice, startling Ricard as he jerked his head back toward him. "Haste thou must make, as the final usher hath arriv'd."

As Ricard nodded, hoping to get a few final pieces of advice before leaving, the doors to the Fire Keeper's quarters shut. After she was done, the time for preparation would be finished, and there would be no turning back.

*See Chapter 2.5 for Ricard's initial interactions and impressions with the Unkindled


	3. Chapter 2b

**Chapter 2.5***

*Some of Ricard's observations about the personality and equipment of the Unkindled he met at Firelink Shrine:

· Clive: Not yet met; Clive seemed to intentionally elude Ricard, disappearing when seeing him approach.

o Appearance: From glimpses, Ricard saw he wore a tattered cloak, part of which he pulled up to cover the bottom half of his face and his nose. Aside from the long scar on the left side of his shaved head, nothing else adorned head. He moved quickly, so he either wore no armor or light armor under his cloak. He didn't have any large weapons slung across his back or hips, leading Ricard to believe he had smaller, hidden weapons on his person.

· Kaine: A gruff warrior in his past life, his only interaction with Ricard was the telling of some his his exploits while alive. Much like Ricard, specific details such as names and places eluded him, but Ricard could tell from his curt, no-nonsense descriptions of battle that Kaine was no stranger to the brutal nature of violence.

o Appearance: Kaine had the look of a sturdy, northern warrior: thick black beard and ear length hair swept to the back. Padded armor was put over chainmail, allowing maneuverability along with decent protection. Kaine seemed to be fond of axes, sharpening one when Ricard approached. A round, wooden shield was slung across his back, waiting to accompany the battle axe.

· Ester: Not yet met. When asking about her whereabouts, Ricard was told she went to the library. When asked about the location of the library, no one knew; evidently, Ester was the only one who knew where it was.

o Appearance: According to others, Ricard could spot her by her raven black, pixie cut hair and dark robes. _Only one type of person wears dark robes_ , thought Ricard: sorcerers.

· Tarán: The quiet giant. Other than smiling at jokes, Ricard saw very little movement in his facial muscles. Still, he seemed nice enough, and would answer yes/no questions with the nod or shake of his head.

o Appearance: Based on his huge stature, meek attitude, and, admittedly, the gigantic pickaxe he carried, Ricard surmised Tarán had been a miner in his past life. He sported a large iron chest piece and thick, leather gloves, no doubt provided for by Andre. He was the only black man Ricard had seen at Firelink; dark skinned men and women were a rarity in Ricard's homeland as well.

· Grit: Serious, direct, and cold were the feelings Ricard got when meeting Grit. He was the swordsman practicing with the zweihander Ricard had seen earlier, and was still practicing in a space outside Firelink when Ricard happened upon him. The young knight was quite surprised he still had the energy to swing the massive blade around, but he chalked it up to Grit having quite the iron will. Based on his short conversation with the well-muscled man, Grit seemed like a man who had struggled through much to acquire the skills he possessed, and Ricard could easily tell he was a man of incredible determination.

o Appearance: A small, yet deep, scar was dragged along the bridge of his nose. He wore armor covering his vitals, leaving his joints bare and free to maneuver. He carried, of course, his zweihander, making other weapons look like children's toys by comparison.

· Parnell: The friendly pyromancer Ricard conversed with after his meeting with the Fire Keeper. Parnell hailed from a distant, swampy land where hideous monstrosities roamed and adherence to ancient customs was rigorously enforced. Still, for living in such a strict place, Parnell was never too far behind a witty comment or playful jab.

o Appearance: Parnell sported a bushy muttonstache to match his thick, red hair. Tattered robes and an assortment of beaded jewelry covered his stout build. While he lacked not muscles, he also lacked not a gut. "A full belly makes a happy man," he said to Ricard, proudly patting his paunch. On his sides were strung a hand axe and whip, opposite each other, while a green, round shield of wood was housed on his back. His most effective weapons, however, were the pyromancies he had learned during his life, brutally effective fire that could be conjured with the right training.

· Adaliz: Not yet met. A member of Parnell's group, she supposedly was quite the crack shot with a bow. Parnell himself only met her briefly before she left for the outskirts of Firelink, claiming to have gone hunting. That had been two days prior, and he had not seen her since.

o Appearance: Adaliz wore a hard leather vest and pauldrons bearing the markings and inscriptions of a land called Mirrah. As with the rest of the Unkindled, Adaliz did not remember the name of her home and only knew it because of her armor. Parnell mentioned to Ricard she possessed a finely crafted longbow and simple dagger. Being a practitioner of spells, the Pyromancer also noticed a small cloth talisman similar to Ricard's on her belt. It would appear she knew something of divine miracles that could heal wounds or give other kinds of relief.

· Leon: Perhaps the strangest man Ricard met at Firelink. He hardly spoke to Ricard while a dour scowl permanently decorated his face, lightly obscured by the low handing blonde bangs of hair on his right side. Between his one word answers, he always seemed to be staring off into the distance. Noting he didn't have much to say, Ricard quickly moved on to the next guest.

o Appearance: Ricard hesitated to even greet the man in the first place because of what he wore, or, more accurately, what he _did not_ wear. The only articles of clothing Leon chose to put on, or perhaps the only ones he owned, were a loincloth covering his privates and a thin rope draped around his shoulder. Attached to the rope were a crude makeshift club and a small wooden plank (no doubt a pathetic excuse for a shield). How a man this deprived of possessions and dignity was chosen to help rekindle the First Flame was beyond Ricard.

· Mortimer: A man highly curious about his and his fellows' predicament. He greeted Ricard with many questions of his past, which Ricard answered to the best of his ability. While listening, Mortimer took notes on a small parchment that looked like it had been ripped out of a book. Without reciprocating answers, he hurriedly departed, leaving the Sun Knight with a puzzled look.

o Appearance: Black, ear-length hair, parted in the middle, topped his head. Instead of armor, he sported a scholarly top and well worn trousers, with cloth gloves coming up to his forearm. On his belt hung a harpe and shortsword, while a staff used for sorceries was slung across his back. It looked like most of the Unkindled took Andre's advice and chose to keep their trusty equipment materialized and on their person instead of merged with their person. Ricard took the time to emulate this practice, keeping his sword and shield in arms reach.

· Giselle: The Way of White herald that had greeted Ricard upon entering Firelink. Her smile was sincere, and a small reminder that, even in their current state, being content was a choice. She, too, had searched for the Flame with her companions, but her life was cut short by one of the giants that had ravaged her land. Regardless, she seemed intent on finishing the job this time. Her tenacity was both refreshing and inspiring.

o Appearance: When not in combat, she wore her blonde hair down (though she had an open-faced helm she showed Ricard). Her preferred weapon was a light, winged spear paired with a small target shield. She wore the traditional armor of a herald proudly. She also confessed to be well versed in the art of miracles, owning a sacred talisman native to the adherents of the Way of White.

· Lambert: A gentleman with secrets. The way he carried himself suggested he strongly valued manners and courtesy; however, Ricard had encountered many nobles and knights during his life, and Lambert seemed to be merely emulating their behavior. Still, he was kind enough to tell Ricard stories of his dueling days. When asked how he died, he simply danced around the answer and confided that not all stories were meant to be told.

o Appearance: Lambert had a thick handlebar mustache with a triangular soul patch barely hanging off his chin. He slicked back his shoulder length hair, giving him a rather regal look. He wore black leather armor and a cloak for protection against the elements. On his side was an estoc and parrying dagger. Ricard suspected that he hid more than those on (or in) his person.

· Sahmir: The carefree sellsword Ricard befriended along with Parnell. In his life, Sahmir was only interested in offering his skills to whomever could pay, including the religious group that hired him and others to rekindle the flame. Needless to say, he was not successful. Sahmir doesn't seem to hold his death against anyone, seeing his defeat as the simple consequence of the fiery stone demon who killed him being stronger than he was.

o Appearance: Bearing stubble and short black hair, Sahmir would wrap his head in heavy cloth to avoid heatstroke. Ricard noted that none of the Unkindled felt much heat, and he gathered that Sahmir wore the head wrap out of habit. His piecemeal armor consisted of an assortment of leather and iron coverings, no doubt spoils taken from felled enemies. A falchion, the perfect weapon for a deft fighter, lay in its scabbard while a sturdy wooden shield was strapped to his back.

· Khellius: The curt, mysterious warrior who had warned Ricard after his talk with the Fire Keeper. Ricard did not return to talk to Khellius, but learned a little of him from others. He was apparently of noble birth, but his only birthright ended up being a life cut short by the quest of Rekindling. His house was famed for it practice of dark pyromancies, arts forbidden in Ricard's homeland.

o Appearance: Based on his fur cape and finely crafted armor, Ricard believed the stories of Khellius' high class birth. Two swords, normally used by mercenaries, were slung at his sides. _Curious_ , thought Ricard, _why would a noble choose to dirty his hands with the blades of some common thug_?

· Eva: Not yet met, and the last to enter Firelink. Unfortunately, Ricard would not have the chance to meet with her before he had to depart.

o Appearance: Long dark hair, gathered in a ponytail, hung from her head. Her half-plate armor shone brightly upon entering the Shrine, suggesting to Ricard she had experience with melee combat. The rest he could only guess at. Perhaps they would one day meet and he could gauge her a little better.


End file.
